


The Shape of Two Hearts

by Jinster



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Guilt, Hurt!Dorian, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Permanent Injury, Slow Burn, canon violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinster/pseuds/Jinster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't supposed to go this way; the Seeker had tracked down someone in the ass end of the ass end of Orlais, and she along with the Boss, himself, and Dorian made short enough work of them and any other enemies along the way. But the layout was unmistakably dragon country, and it wasn't long before they spotted her, in all of her unrivaled and raw chaotic power.<br/>How was it that when he was ready for it, his demise was diverted by the one person he never expected to interfere? They had barely exchanged more than loaded jabs at one another. Yet that body lying still in the surgeon's tent wasn't his own. </p><p>Or, a fanfic that was inspired by something that happened in game. It was a brief moment yet so profound...<br/>Starts out prior to romanced Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Adoribull fic i.e. Iron BullxDorian Pavus, later on may include elements of D/S or BDSM mindsets or scenes, angst, major injury, canon violence, guilt, and other possibly triggering content, possible later nsfw content as well. This may derive from canon.
> 
> If anything above upsets you, or if you are under age or otherwise not legally allowed in your country of residence to read or be exposed to nsfw content please do not read further.
> 
> Posting edited chapters from my Tumblr account.

Out of all the innumerable ways that a mercenary captain and spy for the Qun could go; death from battling a dragon had to at least make the top five list. Though if he was honest with himself, ever since that trip to the Storm Coast brought him front row seats on a giant versus a dragon wrestling match, just a single dragon wasn't enough to take first place in 'most badass way to die'. Now that wasn't to say that he would positively regret surviving (with bragging rights), but no one lived for forever. At least not in this day and age. So if it were a decision left up to him, he would be quite agreeable in deciding to go out in (as literally as possible) blazing glory.

The aforementioned dragon, and subsequently harrying battle, had not been a planned excursion. Otherwise the Inquisitor in all of her budding prowess would undoubtedly have reconsidered the party she brought along to the Exalted Plains. Instead of a thoroughly prepared and suitable hunting party; there was a necromancer who's specialty was in offensive magics and less so on healing, the aspiring rift mage who was still yet learning to master her skills beyond the Dalish's extent of training, the Seeker who was likely the reason they had lasted this long, and Iron Bull himself. It was only supposed to be a routine mission, or at least as much as one could consider the shit that they wound up into on their excursions "routine." Cassandra had found one of the people she was determined to eliminate in the Exalted Plains, which had landed them in the ass end of the ass end of Orlais. 

In hindsight, the moments leading up to the realization of how royally screwed they were was hilarious. Wandering about after finishing their main goal, ultimately lead to them discovering a natural hotspring. Thermally heated water bubbled forth from the ragged and split surface, reeking of sulfur and the steam alone threatening scalding burns if one was too careless. Dorian seemed to light up though, seemingly having found something on their excursions that he took immediate offense or complaint over. Naturally having noticed how fondly Dorian spoke of the bath houses back home, Bull took the opportunity to remind him to 'hike up' his 'skirts.' The indignant response he surely was about to rebuttal him with was caught in his throat and his expression changed in a blink from irritability to utter wide eyed shock. He had a brief moment to be confused, before the shrieking cry from above announced the dragon that was now suddenly circling in the blissfully un-torn sky. 

The initial euphoria at the onset of the battle was now lost on all but likely Bull, that is if anyone else shared his enthusiasm in the first place. Potion flasks littered the area, health and lyrium potions both were exhausted; leaving it down to the mages alone to keep them going. Between Dorian and the Inquisitor; barriers were cast as constantly as they could manipulate whatever spirits or Fade crap they used, but as the lengthy battle and lack of reprieve in any form took its toll on them the magic they expended suffered exponentially. It didn't help either that the closer to death that dragon became, all the more desperate and empowered its attacks became. Pretty soon it was all that either of them could do to deflect a single tail swipe or just a stray spark from the electric breathing creature, before the magic made protective bubble just shattered into innumerable invisible shards. 

At some point of the long struggle to outlive this beast, the staunch order to remain on the dry surface ledges was lost to Bull. It was a common sense thing, to keep out of a conduit of electricity when up against a creature using the element and all. But they were all battle weary, exhausted, and wanted it to be over ages ago. So when he watched it hop away for the umpteenth time, but landing harder and crumpling to one side with a pained screech, his mind narrowed down onto one thing: action. They were so close now! Despite being on his own last leg, muscles and old injuries screaming out, he was able to dig deep spurred on by the scent of the blood spilling out of everyone present. Lifting his axe high, he charged with a loud battle cry, ready to take the killing blow and claim that dragon's skull.

Which would have been fine, had the aforementioned _electric_ dragon not have been surrounded by water. Bull had unceremoniously ran right into it; while wearing metal in the brace, his armor, and of course bearing it in his weapon as well. As he neared the creature enough that it acted in defense, exuding static and causing the surrounding lake to carry a very potent live charge, it was like he was struck by Viv's static cage. His battle cry turned to one of pain as his body came to halt, falling to his knees paralyzed and spasming as the charges channeled through him. The dragon noticed, reared it's beautifully horrible head, and readied to attack. The telltale and blindingly bright substance was glowing within its jaws, growing and starting to block out the dragon itself. There was no moment for him to realize that this was it, to have the entirety of his life flash before his eye, before the dragon spewed the electricity from its bowels. Instead of eye watering white, however, Bull's vision was overcome by silk and bronze.

 

It wouldn't be until much later, after Dorian was laid out on a table, previously for the requisition officer's needs, that Bull would have his memory gaps filled in. He recalled the breath attack from the dragon, then it being blocked by the mage now in desperate need of healers, then the present. The Inquisitor barked out orders to the scouts at the meager camp site they'd erected before their fool's errand, taking on the heavy weight of leadership combined with the urgency at hand with dignity despite how frantic she must be. Any other circumstances and he'd have been proud of how far she'd come and grown in so little time, without falling to the depths as many others with lesser will power were wont to do. The Boss was young yet, not out of her twenties even if it were by a handful of years, and Dalish besides. Yet here she was, holding her own with such natural dignity and prowess; it was little wonder the humans had no qualm of her being in charge, religion debates and state of the world aside. 

Dorian had been, as unnatural as it might have seemed, her quickest and dearest friend. Asides from the other Elvehn mage of the inner circle anyways. So it came to no one's surprise when she set every available scout and hand to work in a desperate battle against time. Which, ironically, would have been easier with the unconscious mage's own time magic. Those who had any remote education around the potions table were set to using every ingredient at their disposal to brew the most potent of healing recipes they had collected to date, along with lyrium ones for the healing spells she would undoubtedly be commencing forthwith.

She proved him right when someone tasked at scrounging up any available potions managed to procure one shining the telltale blue. Downing the contents in a brief swig he could be envious of had it been an ale, her face scrunched up in intense concentration as the air practically buzzed with green magic. Soon wisp like forms of whatever it was a mage called on to initiate healing in such a capacity began to surround and cover Dorian, seeping into his flesh and veins while another person was tasked at tipping the contents of healing potions down his throat. He had no inkling why, but moving from Dorian's side was damn near impossible, if not for his impressive amount of will power to do what needed to be done. Which was frankly to get out of the way so the people actually able to do something right that moment to save him could do their job. It was as he was trying to walk away that he realized he had been clutching at the human's hand the entire time.

After backing out of the way of anxious scouts tripping over themselves frantically to see to their orders, Bull found himself near Cassandra. It was she who would fill in those missing blanks he had. The dragon was dead, killing blow claimed by the Inquisitor, Bull had given a 'heart wrenching' cry that alerted them to Dorian's plight, and Bull had carried Dorian in a full out run without pause until they reached the camp. Whilst she made her revelations, she urged a potion onto him. Guilty he accepted, downing what he could knowing he'd be the strongest to carry a full grown man the distance it was back to the main outpost for further tending.  
There was no doubt in his mind that would become a necessary task, it was a matter of facts. The wounds that Dorian had acquired were simply too grievous for this small forward camp setting would be able to account for, there was simply no way around that. Once Dorain was deemed stable enough to risk the move, he would rush that damned fool of a mage all the way back to Skyhold without relenting if necessary. It was he who ought to have been protecting him...


	2. Anticipated

Cole had been right, in his odd and unsettling way, about Bull's innate desire to not simply fight; but to _defend_. Deep down, beneath everything he was taught and molded into, was the underlying need to protect. He had quite a track record now of acting on that impulse, from Gaat, to Krem and the rest of his mercenary crew, and now to the Inquisition and its people. Battles were great, there was no denying he found great enjoyment from the frontlines and won't miss a chance for a good scuffle; but his purpose was to be more than a tool simply killing a target. He weathered the blows squishier mages and rogues couldn't. Suffered the brunt of the fight so that the injured had time to flee. It wasn't right that out of everyone present, it was the Vint who stepped between him like some living shield.

The Iron Bull most assuredly did not wallow in self doubt, or lose himself in survivor's guilt; or at least that is what he told himself. Now was not the time to criticize the mistakes; that helped no one in the present and the future was uncertain. Instead, he took a deep breath and harkened back onto the training long since ingrained upon him as Hisraad. Emotions in this instance were not useful, and so it was best to clear his mind of clutter (and fear) and redirect his focus on what _could_ be done. 

Life, however, was not fair. He had seen enough in his years to know it to be a fact, and one that no amount of re-educating would alleviate his memory from it. That was not to say that unfairness translated into things being stacked against their favor. They had an ace up the Inquisition's sleeve in the form of a demon thing that read the deepest most personal thoughts aloud inconveniently. The embodiment of compassion must have been either able to hear the discord of his head despite having been left back at Skyhold, or he'd done whatever invisibility and memory tricks he did to tag along unnoticed. But then all of a sudden was a lanky looking kid, with a wide brimmed sun hat moving about amongst the agents and scouts struggling to revive Dorian.

He was muttering things aloud, as he was wont to do, and judging by the faces of the agents it was his usual string of nonsense laced help. But somehow he managed to keep out of the way and since potions seemed to be found where there was frantic searching quicker, it seemed he was helping as best he could. At some time it seemed that the frantic panic buzzing about simmered to a more tangible adrenaline rush, and everyone with any sort of magic geared in healing was looking quite exhausted. 

"He's not dead, not yet." The voice unexpectedly now on his blindside made Bull start, and as he turned to face Cole he continued. "'Searing, sizzling, agony white hot and unbearable.' 'Why? He should have stayed back, safe out of range. Scent of flesh roasted and hair singed, stinks, like Seheron without the rain. My fault, if he dies it was because of me...'"

"Thanks kid, I needed that," the sarcasm was unkind maybe, but having his inner monologue narrated at him... That made it feel and sound all the more damning. 

"But it _wasn't_ your fault, the Iron Bull." It was obvious to anyone that Bull did not in the least believe it. He grunted noncommittally, rolling his shoulder in irritation. "He hasn't died, but he will not survive long here," Cole continued without indicating his acknowledgement that Bull would really rather he didn't. "'Healing can only do so much, chasing scars and quelling the burn. Knitting tissue and flesh is difficult,' Daenansal tires and fears mistakes. 'He will not be the same, but he can be saved, he can live. He must,' but he can't. Not here, not without more healers."

"If you have a point kid, you should get to it," he hadn't meant to growl out, snapping in his rising anger fueled by guilt and helplessness. 

"They helped him all that they could here. He must be moved, back to Skyhold. 'Surgeons, the mages, Stitches, they can all do more than anyone could here. Patch him up, good as new.' You're right, the Iron Bull. But Daenansal thinks it is too soon to move him. 'Not yet stable, sporadic pulse, breathing must be horribly painful the lungs are so burnt,' but it has to be now. She cannot withstand much more spell casting."

That had gotten Bull's attention, and seemingly Cassandra's as well. They shared a look, communicating silently before nodding. Cassandra went straight to the Inquisitor and presumably made a decent argument against her well meaning concern. A few breaths later and Bull's name was shouted with desperation tinting the voice, and he hurried over knowing already what it was he must do. 

"Got it, Boss!" He assured her over his broad shoulder before carefully lifting up the limp Vint. Just as he predicted, he was set into motion to rush him back to where they had more supplies and hopefully healers too. Getting Dorian back to Skyhold in time though, that would be the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it goes, I got a new post up and in while procrastinating on course work again. Not sure how frequently I'll be able to post like this so I can't say these updates will be on the regular. But since it's my birthday in a few days I was feeling generous ;D

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr blog [here](https://xjinsterx.tumblr.com/).


End file.
